


Time

by InR



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-05
Updated: 2009-07-05
Packaged: 2018-10-27 15:19:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10811643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InR/pseuds/InR
Summary: Missing Moment from DH. Ron and Hermione at Shell Cottage...





	Time

 

Ron sprinted towards the splintered wreckage of the chandelier. He saw Hermione’s slender arm twitch convulsively but could see no other hint that she had survived. _Please, please let her be ok,_ he thought as he reached her and began to pull as hard as he could at the cracked metal frame, ignoring the slivers of crystal that tore ribbons of blood into his already scarred arms.  
  
With one great heave, the chandelier came up a few inches off the marble floor and Ron pushed it away from himself. He dropped to his knees next to her head and pulled her onto his lap.  
  
“Ron! Catch and GO!”  
  
Ron twisted around in time to see Harry throw a wand at him. Catching it clumsily in his hand, he pushed himself into standing position, holding Hermione’s still form as hard as he could.  
  
He spun awkwardly on the spot, his left arm shaking from the strain of holding Hermione upright. _Shell Cottage, Shell Cottage, Shell Cottage,_ he repeated over and over as he felt the world grow dark and the claustrophobic squeezing sensation of Apparition descend on him. _Shell Cottage on the outskirts of Tinworth…_  
  
 With a thud, Ron felt his feet hit solid ground. His knees promptly gave way and he fell to the muddy earth, still clutching Hermione’s motionless body to his chest. _Bill,_ he thought. _We need Bill._ Tearing his eyes away from Hermione’s pale face, he laid her gently on the ground and stood up. In the distance he could see the lights of a small cottage. Summoning his last remaining strength, he raised his wand and thought of the happiest memory he could muster. An image of himself, Harry and a whole and unharmed Hermione swam before his eyes, all three of them laughing uproariously, though Ron couldn’t remember at what. He felt warmth rush through his fingers and knew that it had worked; a silvery vapor erupted from his wand and formed itself into a small dog. With a flick of his wrist in the direction of the cottage, the silver Patronus was gone, leaving Ron and an unconscious Hermione in cold darkness.  
  
 He knelt back down in the mud by her head and lifted her to him again. Was it his imagination or was she colder than she had been a moment before? Ron tried to stop thinking but his throat began to burn and his vision blurred as he stared at her face. He remembered what she had taught him about first aid when they were staying at Grimmauld Place. _Tip the head back, pinch the nose, open the mouth and blow. No, no, that wasn’t right. That’s if they aren’t breathing._ Is _she breathing? Shite!_ He gulped and put an ear close to her mouth, suppressing the desire to laugh as he felt a small puff of warm air against his cold cheek. He exhaled shakily and laid his head against her shoulder, pushing his nose into the soft skin of her neck and closing his eyes.  
  
“Ron? RON! What the-?! Is that Hermione?!”

Ron’s eyes shot open and he looked up to find his eldest brother sprinting towards them. As Bill reached them, he stopped, taking in the sight of his youngest brother, covered in something that looked horribly like blood and holding a suspiciously still Hermione.  
  
 “Is- is she-?” asked Bill. 

Ron shook his head wordlessly and pulled himself up to his full height. “Help me carry her in. Please, Bill, she needs help!” Ron hoped that his brother could see the desperation that filled him and the need to protect her, to make sure she would be alright.  
  
 "Fucking hell, Ron, what happened? What have you been-?”

Ron shook his head again. “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, Bill, but you’ve got to help me!” Bill hesitated for a moment before picking Hermione up gently and walking towards the distant cottage.  
  
As they reached the front gate, the door flew open and Fleur rushed out into the garden. Her hand flew to her mouth as she opened the gate, but she remained silent as she followed Ron and Bill into the house. Bill started up the stairs and entered the bedroom on the second floor that Ron had stayed in at Christmas. He placed Hermione gently on the bed and left the room, leaving Ron alone with her.  
  
 He crossed the room in one long step and sat on the bed next to her still unmoving body. He stared down at her, still beautiful but horribly pale and waxy in the dim candlelight. Trickles of blood ran down her face from the numerous cuts the falling glass had made and the hem of her jumper was soaked with blood from her neck. Ron reached out a hand and absent-mindedly pushed the hair out of her eyes, bending down to place a kiss on her forehead. He jerked his lips back from her skin as Fleur strode into the room carrying a basin of water and a sponge.  
  
“You can leave ‘er Ron. I will take good care of ‘er” said Fleur with a sympathetic smile. 

Ron shook his head. “No. I want to be here when she wakes up. I have to know if she’s alright.” He gripped one of her hands in his and glared defiantly at Fleur.

She did not argue but smiled and placed the sponge in the water. “Ok,” she said, “but you will ‘ave to move, I ‘ave to clean ‘er up a bit.”  
  
Ron stood up, allowing Fleur to sit on the bed next to Hermione. “What- what are you doing?” he asked as Fleur raised her wand.

Fleur huffed a little impatiently, “All zis glass has got to come out somehow, Ron.” She hesitated for a moment. “You may not want to watch zis; it will not be pretty.” 

But Ron couldn’t turn away and watched in horror as Fleur murmured a spell and the glass embedded in Hermione’s skin began to rise out of her. Blood soaked her clothes as the glass came out and small cuts appeared all over her body, she stirred slightly and let out a small cry.  Ron wanted to stop Fleur but it was over as soon as it had started and all the bloody glass was piled on a towel at Fleur’s feet.  
  
"Ron? Can you ‘elp me? I must take ‘er zings off, so I can stop ze bleeding.” Ron felt a shock of panic; _she wants me to undress Hermione?_ He thought. He felt the tips of his ears grow hot as he pulled her gently into sitting position and began to pull at the hem of her jumper while Fleur bustled around getting various potions from the bedside cabinet. Trying not to think too much about what he was doing, Ron pulled the jumper over Hermione’s head and started on the simple cotton shirt that she wore underneath. He succeeded in getting her T-shirt off and laid her back down on the bed. Heart racing, he carefully unzipped her jeans and tugged them down her thin legs.  
  
Ron stepped back as Fleur began to dab at Hermione’s various cuts and bruises with the sponge and a small bottle of horrible smelling potion. He watched her work for a few minutes while alternately searching Hermione’s face for signs that she was waking up. Suddenly, they heard the crack of Apparition outside and the front door slammed as Bill ran out into the night.

“Ron,” said Fleur, “I am going to see if zey need ‘elp too. Can you just wash ze blood away and put zis potion on ze cuts?” She handed him the sponge and the bottle and hurried out of the room.  
  
Ron moved towards the bed and began wiping at a particularly nasty cut on Hermione’s cheek. He must have pushed too hard because she whimpered softly and opened her eyes. Her gaze shifted to his face and she gave him a small half smile. His heart leapt in his chest and he felt almost as if all the blood in his body began circulating again. He grinned back; “You recognize me?” he asked.  
  
“Ron,” she answered in a small voice, reaching out a hand towards him. He sat down on the bed and took her outstretched hand. Hermione tried to sit up but Ron pushed her gently back onto the pillows. She gasped as his hand touched her bare shoulder and Ron remembered; she didn’t have any clothes on. Instantly, his face and neck grew warm and he looked away, handing her the robe that Fleur had set on the end of the bed. He heard her sit up slowly and swing her legs over the side of the bed, the bed rising ever so slightly as she stood up. There was a rustle of fabric and the bed creaked again as she sat down next to him.  
  
She inched her hand closer to his and touched the inside of his wrist. “Ron” she began, her voice soft and a little bit hoarse. “Ron, what happened to you?” He winced as her finger bumped against one of the slices on his arm.  
  
“Me? Oh I’m fine Hermione; it’s you I’m worried about. I-”

She waved her hand impatiently and then gritted her teeth against the pain, obviously regretting the action. “I’m fine, Ron, really. In a few days it’ll be nothing more than a few bruises.” 

He gaped at her.  “A few bruises? Hermione, they- they--” He tried in vain to stop his voice from trembling. He could feel the tears gathering in his eyes and dropped his head into his hands, determined not to let her see him cry.

She huffed a little and reached a hand towards him. “Oh, Ron.” He felt one of her hands reach around his back and felt the other come to rest lightly on his chest. It was too much for him. He turned slightly towards her and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in the shoulder of her robe.  
  
She stiffened in his arms but then relaxed, letting a small sigh escape her lips. She stroked his hair and murmured softly into the top of his head. He clung to her tightly and cried, cried like a big baby. He supposed he should have been ashamed of himself but he had come so _close_ to losing her that nothing else mattered. She shifted a bit and pressed her lips softly to his temple. Ron raised his head and placed a large, rough hand on her cheek. He stroked his thumb down her jaw to her chin and bent his head sideways. He moved his lips closer to hers. Closer and closer until they were almost touching and he could feel the heat of her breath on his face. He pushed forwards that last, short distance and almost groaned as she pulled away from him.  
  
Ron blushed and took his arms back from around her waist. “Hermione, I’m sorry I-I don’t know why I did that. Well I _do_ know, but-” She held one finger to his lips to silence him.  
  
“I know, Ron. I want very much to- to, _kiss_ you, but I can’t, we can’t. Not right now.” He looked up. She was blushing prettily, the color coming back into her cheeks.  
  
“Ok,” he replied. “Great. Yeah, yeah, I understand. Not right now; when this is all over, but not now.” She gave him a shaky smile and he felt the corner of his mouth turn up in response.  
  
“Soon, Ron, we just have to wait a little longer and then we have the rest of our lives to do what ever we want.” It was such a childishly optimistic promise but Ron felt warm, as though he could have produced a million Patronuses with the tiny memory of their small, insignificant almost-kiss. He supposed that was girly and not very masculine of him but at that moment, Ron didn’t care.  
  
Soon, very soon, they would have all the time in the world.  
  
   
  
~ . ~ . ~ . ~ .  
  
   
  
Hermione had never felt really and truly powerful. Oh, sure there were times when she felt respected or bossy, but she had never felt so powerful. The way Ron stared, the way his jaw hung open after she kissed him, the way he looked at her in that moment, like she was the only person in the whole world, made her feel so strong.  
  
She knew that that hadn’t been the right time to do it, certainly not the right place, in the midst of a battle in a crumbling corridor of a castle that was being blown apart at that very instant. But if she stopped to think, Hermione found that she didn’t care.  
  
His arms were still around her and she remembered the feel of having her whole body pushed up against his. She remembered the taste of his lips, his mouth, his tongue, and the sound, no, the _feel_ of the low groan he had let out rumbling from his chest into hers.  
  
She blushed as she found herself wishing they could pause time and sneak away. Wishing she could push him into an empty classroom or even just a dark corner and kiss him again, feel his mouth on hers and his hot breath on her neck. She would kiss him with everything she had in her heart; she would kiss his neck, his mouth, his chest; and she would _touch_ him. Yes she would touch and be touched, love and be loved, kiss and be kissed. But they had no time.  
  
But for now, the memory of his warmth, the tight comfort of his embrace and the taste of his lips would get her through this battle, would get her through everything; until they had more time….


End file.
